


Heroic Legends of Arslan:  (The Way to) Red Abduction

by minkmix



Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan, and all - Fandom
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, h/c, protective daryoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22806637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minkmix/pseuds/minkmix
Summary: I posted this a very long time ago. And I posted it all in the wrong order. That being said,  I wrote this even longer ago. When this anime first came to the states with lovely brit voice actors. Of course I went the Daryun/Arslan route. It's so pretty. So I am reposting it in all in order.Summary: Our darling Prince Arslan is taken taken away by an angry Goddess. Much peril happens. For him and all his loyal friends. They literally travel to hell. And I find this entire fic to be a sex scene but that's just me and boy peril. AND:MY LADY Pharanguese! Don't GO ON WITHOUT ME! (still funny Gieve, still funny)
Relationships: Arslan/Daryun (Heroic Legend of Arslan)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

Balmy air flowed gently into the dim room, the scent of the ocean on it, warm and humid. Arslan lay his clothing out in neat piles on the enormous bed he had been given in an even more embarrassingly large and extravagant chamber general Kishuwade had given him.

It was easy to forget all the nights spent half dozing on the roads and wood, never really sleeping for fear of-

Arslan paused, curious to where his thoughts would take him.

-fear of everything?

He made small face at the thought, offended that it had come. He used to fear many things but his mind sought the safety of the child he was, not what he had become all these long months of fighting. "Fear of losing the fight." He murmured to the open window, the ocean sparkling like white fire under a round full moon. And his friends. They risked everything on his side but they did not waver for a moment. Arslan felt a swell of pride at their loyalty that made him wish for their presence.

That night as he sat at his table entertaining the constant chatter of the courtesans, the young prince was shocked at how boring they all seemed to him now. His gaze kept returning to where his companions lurked around the party’s edges, watching every door and pretending to enjoy the music. Gieve did not have to pretend actually, but even he was ignoring the coy glances he received from the curious and willing. Narsus was tolerating the thriving need of small talk and gossip with grace and even the Lady Pharangese bore the on slaught of the court’s curiosity well instead of abandoning the whole mess to pursue her prayers.

Of course Daryoon remained near him, lingering behind him on the fringe of the laughter and dancing. Tall and menacing in his black armour, his dark eyes flickering around the room in an inhuman vigilance. Arslan admired him like an imaginary hero, every feat put to a legend Arslan saw Daryoon accomplishing with ease.

Daryoon. Arslan paused when the name flared in his mind like warm panic.

"It is late your highness." A voice startled him out of his reverie.

There the tall warrior was, summoned on a thought. Daryoon stood respectively under the great stone arch that was the door, in his black armor of course, and without question, his right hand on his sword.

Arslan felt himself smile. "Yes." He gave up trying to sort through all the lavish clothing left for him and sunk down onto his bed. "You know Daryoon," Arslan began, "You would make a wonderful nanny."

Daryoon gave a small smile. It was small but it had an amazing effect on him, the tall warrior suddenly appeared gentle and at ease, instead of his stoic patience. "Perhaps after the wars end my lord."

Arslan laughed quietly as the night mood seemed to demand, the air too warm, the dull ocean roar drifting through it. "It feels strange sometimes now Daryoon."

"What does your highness?"

"The attention I suppose." Arslan made a vague gesture with one elegant white hand around the room to the golden walls and the gilded ornate furniture. "All of this."

Daryoon nodded, considering the floor. "No fear, the comforts of a roadside camp will come soon enough." He shared his rare smile again. "We will all sleep better then." Daryoon stepped back prepared to leave.

Arslan felt his chest tighten at the thought of being left alone. "Daryoon?" He bit at his lower lip realizing he had nothing to ask. "Would you...would wake me early? Tomorrow?"

Daryoon bowed. "Sleep well my lord."

**************

Daryoon sat with the stillness of a statue waging the constant battle with his own exhaustion. His chair was pressed against Arslan’s door and he had waved away servants so that no one disturb the crown prince. Arslan needed to sleep soundly at least one night. Narsus had come and gone, mentioning the work he had done on his map and the growing allegiance to Arslan. Armies from far off lands were appearing every day swearing themselves to the true crown, their camps fires dotted the night like fire flies over the country side.

The weary companions were finally left some time to assemble themselves, even Gieve seemed pleased to be inside walls.

Narsus had left Daryoon with a decanter of wine and a small kiss on the side of his mouth. Daryoon touched the spot with his fingertips, his mind flashing back to so long ago, before Narsus had left the court, content with solitude in the woods. His mind went back to a time when he longed for those kisses from Narsus, which came often and in much less innocence in the candle light of the Palace of Yekbatarna. Did the palace still stand? He had heard it did.

When Narsus choose his isolation, he did not only leave the royal court, he had left Daryoon. So many years had dulled the hurt, until only the affection remained, leaving Daryoon glad he had that much. But the small kiss Narsus left him surprisingly did not bring Daryoon to dwell on their shared past of passion and promises, it lead him somewhere much closer. Daryoon shut his eyes, allowing himself to think about it for maybe the first time. Allowing himself to think of the prince.

Arslan.

He had looked in on the sleeping heir twice, an unease growing despite the welcome safety Pershwa Castle brought. He had begun to stop wondering when it happened that his loyalty and love for Arslan had turned to something maybe even greater. Something beyond serving the future king, even the fate of the land was shadowed by it. He couldn’t blame duty or honour anymore, he lived for Arslan in a way he did not live for the fate of his kingdom.

The need to protect the gentle boy who had become a competent young man before his very eyes, grew to the point of pain. Arslan’s delicate nature would be so easily shattered by the cold cruelty of the assassin the world had become. It made Daryoon’s head hurt to think of all they had to overcome just for something good to prevail. As a child Daryoon was made to believe that good always triumphed and while age had not only proven otherwise, it left bitterness at the idea.

Even Narsus, who had long ago whispered about Good to him in the middle of the night, making love to the dream that they could change anything if only they believed. When Narsus left him and the dream behind, Daryoon’s bitterness had only grown only to make him numb. Arslan had made that bitterness fade into hope he thought he had lost. A cliche Daryoon frown at in stories and bard’s songs. To embrace that child’s dream in Arslan embarrassed him at first. But then he saw warrior after warrior follow, seeing Arslan’s fragile presence, his incredible purpose, and to see those warriors want to die for the chance that it may come true, Daryoon found he could do nothing else but do the same.

*******************

Arslan woke slowly, disoriented. A glance to the candles showed him he had barely slept an hour, the red wax not burned even a quarter down. He lay on top on the made bed clothes still wearing his riding gear.

"Hello?" Arslan ventured, unsure of what had woken him. His gaze fell to the wide window where the ocean roared below. A figure sat crouched, silhouetted by the moon light. Arslan gasped, his hand going for his sword which he had left by his bedside.

It stepped down from the window and emerged from the shadows holding out Arslan’s own glittering sword, drawn from it’s scabbard.

"Who are you?" Arslan fought to keep the fear from his voice but failed. His glanced to the distant door wondering if Daryoon would hear him if he cried out.

"Nobody." The man said. And he was as non descript as it seemed. Like any common man passed on the road or brushed by in the market place. Except for maybe his size, powerfully built, but not clumsy in movement, he walked with predatory ease to the foot of the bed and stared down at Arslan with cold blank grey eyes. And his skin, Arslan’s narrowed as the man drew closer into the ring of candle light, his skin was dark grey and coarse. Had he been burned?

Arslan made to move but the tip of his own sword swiftly pressed into the delicate hollow of his throat. "No." The man simply said.

"What do you want." Arslan asked although the answer could be hosted by countless things that followed what and who Arslan was. His death could serve or hurt many.

"You must come with me." The man responded taking something out of the inside of the dark leather pouch that hung at his waist. It was a deep purple orchid. It looked as if it had been made of blood and carved of wax, it’s glossy petals were heavy and thick.

Arslan braced himself. "I will not." His gaze going in desperation to the door beyond him. "If I shout--"

"-- it will be for the last time." The man finished, pushing the tip harder for emphasis.

Arslan froze, the sting of the blade making him breath faster in fear.

The man crushed the small delicate flower in his gloved hand. "Sleep." He moved forward and Arslan tried to back away from him under the sword, but the man was much faster.

Arslan was slammed back onto the bed, the man’s gloved hand pressing down over his nose and mouth, the strange heavy scent the sickeningly sweet flower making him gag. He struggled at the weight on top of him, crushing the breath out of his body and suffocating him with the gloved hand. The man was incredibly heavy, ignoring Arslan’s fists, the massive length of the man’s hard body was freakishly cold instead of warm.. But the heavy scent was making him dizzy, the broad canopy that hung over the bed lurched and began to blur.

No... Arslan moaned in his mind, his lungs aching under the man’s weight, every small breath he did manage, was filled with the strong heady fumes from the gloved hand clamped down over his mouth. In a last frantic attempt, he pushed up with all his strength and kicked out, sending a vase on his bedside that Elam had filled just hours ago with freshly cut flowers, crashing to the floor.

**************

The sudden sound of shattering glass, brought Daryoon to the present like a slap across the face.

Daryoon rose and drew his sword in one smooth motion, his instincts taking over his body. He opened the door without knocking, a sense of dread expectation spreading through him in a sickening familiar way, as comfortable as battle madness, sliding like puzzles pieces into his mind. Exhaustion melting away into action, Daryoon felt the sword rise to his command.

In the dim light of the sputtering candles, Arslan was sprawled on his bed while a tall massive someone stood very still at his bedside considering Daryoon's entrance. The prince was limp, maybe dead. His porcelain white skin was ghostly. While Daryoon watched, this someone pulled at Arslan’s wrist, dragging him off the bed, letting him hit the floor as if the crown prince was lifeless and a burden to be dragged.

"Majesty!" The tall warrior breathed.

Daryoon heard the soft voice come weak and confused. "Daryoon..." Arslan’s large blue eyes opened in hazy confusion, tugging feebly at his trapped wrist.

"Stop." The man said. He spoke strangely, an automaton. "He is ours."

"You arrogant bastard." Daryoon found the rage taking him over, his sword swinging out in front of him. "You will not leave here alive!" Arslan was right there, only a few feet away, but impossibly far from safety. Daryoon moved forward with the ease and power of a cat, his sword sliding through the air towards the interloper’s heart.

"No." 

Daryoon heard the man say the simple word as his sword suddenly met the opposite stone wall in a shower of sparks, almost jarring the hilt from his hands. How--

Before Daryoon could finish wondering how the man had avoided his killing stroke, a bright flash exploded before his eyes, searing them like fire, burning into his skull. His sight was torn from him. Wiping at his blind wet eyes with the backs of his arms, Daryoon stood panting in pain and defeat, his jaw clenching shut in an impotent rage, his tears of pain running down his sun dark face. Daryoon swung blindly in a rage, but when the torture subsided, letting him open his eyes in agony, the room was empty. Glaring back in confusion to the guards that had finally reached the lonely tower room, Daryoon rushed to the window and was greeted by an empty stretch of beach and a silent moon.

The man and the crown prince were gone 

To be continued......


	2. Hell

The night was over, the cooking fires wafted smoke across the stables and up into the pale yellow sun burning over the treeline. The guards strode nervously along the castle walls, their voices hushed and tense, each asking another for some detail, overheard or learned from the night watch. But only two things were certain from the walls of the strongest fortress ever built, and surrounded by thousands of armies of the Prince.

The Crown Prince had vanished and no one knew who had taken him.

The finest scouts had been called and sent, and the most seasoned trackers set loose, only to return without a single foot print or clue. Elam had finally been persuaded to his bed, where his soft sobs where finally quieting behind the nearby door. Narsus had pet the distraught boy’s head until his wails had turned to soft sobs in Narsus’s lap. He could feel his young servant’s despair echoed in all those around him, but he kept his mind clear and focused like the sparkling crystal goblet that sat by his hand.

Narsus had wanted secrecy but it was impossible to withhold the soft murmurs of one house maid to another, from one guard to his fellow until he could feel the entire castle buzzing in nervous panic around him. Pausing, his quill held up thoughtfully to his mouth, Narsus looked in concern to Daryoon who had barely spoken a word since the alarm had been sounded only hours before. The tall warrior was seated across the room, far in the corner out of the way of the envoys and message boys that dashed in and out from Narsus’s desk. Daryoon sat staring down at his clasped hands between his knees, his eyes were hard and detached.

Narsus watched as a servant girl asked if Daryoon required anything, and watched the warrior blink up in confusion and then finally distracted vague anger, waving the small girl away. Narsus slowly stood, gently nodding the few servants standing by the door to leave them. Daryoon did not even notice the sudden silence brought by privacy.

"About this man." Narsus said softly, shutting the door behind him. The tall warrior regarded him warily. "Tell me again," Narsus paused considering the story Daryoon had told him over and over again. "Tell me about the man you saw."

"What is there left to tell?" Daryoon growled. "Damn it all. He was dark and very tall, and avoided my blade like the wind itself." Just the thought of the strange man made Daryoon’s brow crease in frustration

Narsus nodded to himself. Not many met a killing stroke from Daryoon’s sword without seeing their own blood or their deaths. "It troubles me."

Daryoon looked up at him, chewing at the inside of his lip. "What does?"

"That this man was like the wind. I know of no man that can avoid your sword."

"What of it?"

"Maybe it was not a man."

"You are speaking nonsense."

"Am I? What man leaves no trail, and vanishes like a wisp of smoke?"

"A right clever one, that’s who. Clever enough to make fools of us all." There were tears threatening the dark eyes, but he blinked them furiously back.

"You mustn’t blame yourself Daryoon." His voice became soft, his eyes intent. "No one doubts-"

"Do not talk to me about blame Narsus." Daryoon’s voice seethed with loathing but it was not for the elegant strategist before him. He was keeping it all for himself, his black gloved hands twisting again and again in his grip. The warrior’s voice became tight as he looked hard at the floor. "I hold myself accountable for his Majesty’s death."

"Daryoon, try to be a tad more optimistic. " Narsus smiled slightly. "I can promise you Arslan is alive." Narsus watched Daryoon look up at him sharply. "Yes," the painter nodded. "If this strange man wanted to murder Arslan, he could have done so without taking him from us."

"It was not an assassin?" Daryoon seemed unconvinced, but fought it, his respect for Narsus’s infallible intellect combating his doubts.

A voice spoke surprising them both. "We found something." Pharangese stood in the opposite door, her fine even features hard as ice.

****************

Daryoon couldn’t listen to them all, their useless words of comfort. He had failed. One by one they entered the room, their gaze flickering to him then away. Each look brought him closer and closer to his burning shame. Gieve tried to meet his eyes but Daryoon couldn’t bear it.

"I was in Arslan’s chambers," Gieve said, unusually subdued, "I found this."

Daryoon didn’t look up. When they were all tired and beaten into the earth itself, Gieve alone remained untouched by fatalist thoughts. It depressed him to hear the defeat in Gieve’s voice. After all they had been through, only to lose the prince now. My Prince, how I have failed you...

"Where?" Narsus was asking.

Daryoon lifted his heavy head to see Gieve holding something in the palm of his hand. It looked like rotted fruit, glossy and dark. A faint smell suddenly reached him, heavy and sweet. What was it?

"On his bed, it smells strange." Gieve paused. "Like funeral flowers rotting in the sun. Like the first breathe of a tomb. Like a--"

"Give it to me and be quiet." Pharangese inserted sternly. She had been out the night searching with the others around the castle for sign of where this man had taken Arslan but had, along with all of them, not found a single sign. Her cold impassive eyes flared when she examined what Gieve had found.

"It is as I fear. We will not find Arslan here." She voice was careful, calculating her next words. "This is a Lantra flower. It grows in only one place."

"Where?" Daryoon demanded. "Will shall go there at once!"

Narsus was silent.

"The Isle of Mandra is far Daryoon." The Priestess breathed in reverence, her lips moving in a small prayer.

Daryoon looked up fearfully to the silent strategist. "Narsus?" He stood, Gieve looking as confused as he was. But the name seemed familiar to him somehow. Mandra. "But wait--" Daryoon’s eyes narrowed in vague understanding.

Gieve sighed and rolled his eyes. "Would anyone care to explain or do you enjoy letting us flounder all morning long?" The archer had found a chair, and slumped tiredly into it.

Narsus didn’t smile." Mandra isn’t a legend Daryoon. It is real. The man you saw." Narsus said. "You said he avoided your sword like it was child play?"

"Yes." Daryoon answered trying to wrap his belief system around the impossible. The Isle of Mandra? Real?

"The person, this being you saw last night." Narsus said quietly, his thoughts wrapping in around themselves as he considered it all. "It was not human."

Gieve half smiled, settling back into his seat. "Now this should be very good."

Pharangese went on ignoring the bard. "Narsus is right. It was a golem, a creature created from the earth itself. Sent here."

"Sent by whom?" Daryoon demanded. "From the earth? How is that possible?"

"By the temple of Makra." The priestess made the protective sign of her Goddess.

Daryoon went cold. "It is legend!" Daryoon insisted as he stood, "Stories to frighten children to bed!" Makra.

Gieve said thoughtfully. "I have heard many stories of the servants of Makra. That they exist in small hidden cults. But the Isle of Mandra? That is her netherworld home, how could that exist?" The bard had grown pale.

Daryoon could barely think. Misra, the Goddess of hope and love, and her sister a dark mirror of Misra’s compassion. Makra, a Goddess of death and rot. "No one has seen a temple of Makra for centuries?" Her temples had been set to flame and destroyed hundreds of years ago, the fleeing Priests and Priestesses burned alive for their use for sacrifice and unholy worship.

Gieve was rolling the bruised black petals in his fingertips. "This comes from the Isle?" He placed it slowly onto Narsus’s desk, his hand shaking slightly.

Daryoon stared at it. That black flower came from netherworld. Hell.

"As the Goddess Misra chose Arslan, so did her sister Goddess Makra." Pharangese said solemnly, "Misra chose him to be King of our land and to deliver us into an age of enlightenment. Her sister Goddess choose Arslan as well."

The tall warrior’s mind flashed to all the stories, the bodies of children found at Makra’s altars, the Priests practice of mutilation and suffering. "What for?" His voice was small.

Pharangese looked down. "To bring fire to the night. Night to conquer the dawn. To be the King of fear and terror."

*******************

Arslan opened his eyes slowly, meeting only blackness so thick and hot it flowed like tepid water into his lungs. He slowly realized he was laying on his back, the sound of his ragged breathing loud to him. It was a void without even the dim light of a candle to mar the black.

"Daryoon." He barely heard his own voice rasp in the silence. His head felt heavy, and the dull agony of a headache throbbed unbearably. Shutting his eyes again, Arslan slowly let his hands feel the rough hewn floor on which they lay, strangely cold compared to the humid air that hung around him. He couldn’t feel his legs.

Panic washed over him like cold water, and he moaned trying to right himself. But Arslan could barely lift his head from the cool stone. He lay still, his teeth clenched as explosions of white burst before his eyes, his head flooding with agonizing pain. For several moments he thought he might throw up, but it slowly subsided leaving him panting miserably in the dark. Where was he? His memory came to him through the hazy fog of pain. The oceans roar that lulled him to sleep, the man with his very own sword and then.... nothing. If only he could move, maybe there was a way out of this place?

There is no way out precious one.

Arslan started in fear, a small noise coming from him. There was something in the dark with him. He could suddenly feel it. The prince listened closely for foot steps but he heard nothing but his own fearful panting.

_Are you very comfortable?_

"Wh-where am I?" His voice was raw and small, but he tried very hard to use a tone he had heard his mother use to exhibit her authority. Arslan hoped the tremble he heard wasn’t as obvious to whomever was listening.

_I visited your mother the dawn you were conceived. I knew you were coming._

Arslan felt the dark swirl around his face like a caress, it made him shiver and bite his lip. He desperately tried not to let his tightly shut eyes over run with tears.

**You are my child.**

"What do you mean?" The crown prince opened his eyes again, blinking in the black. He tried to look around to find the source of the voice that slithered around him like smoke. "Of course I’m not. I don’t know what you mean." The tears came, the young crown prince couldn’t help it.

Your name should have been mine to give.

The wet heat grew heavy on his mouth like an open kiss. "Let me...g-go." Arslan felt his fear reach a shimmering height, the inky hot air pressing against him tighter and tigher. His lungs felt as if they were being softly crushed, the smothering sense of a languid eager shadow flowing over the length of his body.

I will name you again.

Hot tears ran down the sides of his face, and the shadow brushed at them, gently brushing the salty wettness across his parted lips.

_You will be reborn._

to be continued...


	3. The Journey

Narsus sat pensively at the window. "There is no option left but to pursue him."

Daryoon felt his skin go cold in disbelief. "There is a way Narsus?"

The elegant Counselor nodded and looked pointedly to Pharangese.

"I have been summoned to make pilgrimage to the Temple of Misra." She stood. Daryoon and Gieve both looked at her in shock and then exchanged a look with one another.

"I have heard of paths to the Accursed Land. None who dwell in the temple dare speak of them, but they do exist." The Lady explained.

"They realize it is time to cast away the fear that lingers on the sister Goddess. They have agreed to meet with Pharangese." Narsus crossed his arms. ""As members of the Prince's Guard, it is our duty to aid in his rescue."

"So we are going straight to hell are we?" Gieve asked pouring himself some more wine. His fifth glass to be exact.

"Must you Gieve?" Narsus mumbled, rubbing his forehead with a tired gloved hand.

"I am afraid so, your Eminence" Gieve's frown did not vanish as he downed his drink. "Do you really think any of this will work? For all we know-"

"For all we know the Isle is a ridiculous story told to children." Narsus’s eyes flashed and his voice lowered. "You have made us quite aware of you views on the subject Gieve and with your usual flippancy."

The Lady’s voice cut through the tension. "It is the Unholy Land and none is certain, but Arslan’s abduction has been confirmed by our highest Priestesses. We must not let Makra take Misra’s chosen and twist his purpose. It could be the start of another Holy War."

Daryoon's fist hardened on his sword hilt. Gieve stared into his wine glass. Narsus sat grimly his chin in his hand. Pharangese turned coldly to the windows and the sky beyond.

"Be ready in the morning." Was all Daryoon could say. "The Temple is a day’s ride."

* * *

Daryoon couldn’t appreciate the Temple grounds as he knew he should. The sun was bright and hot and the breeze was cool, but he took no pleasure in any of it.

The sweeping alabaster stone walls of the temple towered hundreds of feet over the calm mirror surfaces of the square mediation pools. The birds flew from flowered tree to the next, swooping down to drink from the crystal reflecting waters full of gold and blue fish. Somber women in white robes greeted them silently as they made their way, pausing to bow only to Pharangese, a Warrior Priestess. The serene surroundings couldn’t manage to cover the underlying anxiety that filled it’s heart. Misra’s Chosen was gone, and the future was teetering darkly.

"What a beautiful place." Gieve sighed watching two young ladies in light, cream dress marking them as novices of Misra.

"Master!" Elam breathed in wonder, "have you ever seen anything so brilliant?" Elam was pointing to the incredible sprawl of fountains shining before the entrance of the temple. The sacred arcs of sparkling water glittered in the sun, reaching and arching like the graceful stone walls that sloped above them. The fountains were surrounded by common people, some who had traveled many days or weeks to drink there, and receive blessing from the Goddess.

"Does it really cure the sick Master?" Elam’s eyes were very round as they grew closer.

"Some say so." Narsus answered with a nod.

Daryoon was silent as they paused so that Elam could timidly scoop some of the water reverently to his lips.

"Why does this place lay heavy upon you Daryoon?" Pharangese asked softly.

He shook his head unwilling to speak. The very grounds of the Temple had filled him with wonder and beauty. Peace and Light. What, Daryoon wondered, would Misra’s dark twin hold in Her realm? Feeling the clear sweet water breathe cool against his face, his heart grew heavy in dread.

And what had befallen Arslan there?

Daryoon knew they would have a hard time convincing the Head Priestess as soon as he saw her. An old woman, and devoted to her duty, she wanted to hear nothing from this group of heathen dusty men, much less their intentions of performing the Temple’s most guarded ceremony, a journey that even a sanctified Priestess of Misra might not be chosen to take.

At the very mention of the idea, the elderly Priestess looked at them as if expecting them to be joking or more likely insane. But her carefully composed shock turned into outraged disgust.

"The Isle? No one has dared in centuries. Why would we not send our very own?"

"Forgive me but that is inaccurate," Narsus interjected," The Priests and Priestesses of Makra went to and from Her realm common enough. The few remaining texts that detail the warriors Misra sent included any that would follow. Not just her Priestesses."

"It is blasphemy." Her mouth turned into a grim line and she looked to Pharangese in distaste for bringing these strangers to her. "Pharangese, because you have been honored with the privilege of dwelling outside these sacred walls, do you honestly believe that your liberty extends to the unholy acts suggested by this pilgrim?"

The Lady, for once, was humble. "I have faith in the Goddess's chosen protection for the Crown Prince." Was all she said.

Daryoon stood in frustrated silence. They all spoke better than he could manage, but it was all he could do not to toss all of these people aside and start taking answers.

"Do you children have any idea what is at stake?" She demanded, eyeing them all in disbelief. "Arslan was Misra’s own. She named the boy herself at his birth. If he is not returned to us a war greater than any of these petty land wars the lords of the country hold daily." She gave Daryoon a particularly revolted look.

"No mortal family feud can measure up to the battling of two sister Goddesses. Makra intends to make Arslan her Own and have him lead her armies into a Holy War outside the Dark Isle, and take much more than your capitals or your borders."

"We understand My Lady-" Daryoon attempted in vain.

"Do you?" She was unconvinced. "Not borders, but the stars themselves are threatened by what Arslan has the potential to become. And you ask us, to let the likes of YOU, to be entrusted with this duty? Those of you who lost the Chosen in the very first place?"

The words struck Daryoon like a physical blow and he winced, staring hard down to the floor in shame.

"And you," The High Priestess voice grew its most icy and sank to the deepest of disappointment. "Pharangese. Selected from many. Many who would gladly die for one opportunity to serve Him. A Priestess of Misra Herself and you let him vanish right before your eyes. You are our greatest failure."

"My Lady." Pharangese murmured, her voice wavering.

"You would have been my first to send on such a mission. I wonder now if it is even possible, if the likes of you can fail so completely."

There was a great deep silence borne from the Priestess's venomous reprimandation.

"Oh well, you all heard what her Greatness said. It simply can't be done." Gieve shrugged and even managed a resigned smile. " I think I'll go wait outside and seek companionship from a few of those pretty novices I saw by the fountain."

The old Priestess cast her scathing glance to him "You dare say such things at this time?"

"If rescuing the Prince is blasphemy, then it obviously cannot be done." He managed enough audacity to throw a jeer at the white haired matron. "I'd rather spend my last moments in the arms of a beautiful holy girl than run screaming when Arslan and all his Dark Legions lead Makra into these pretty white walls."

Daryoon felt sick. "Enough Gieve!" He growled, silencing the brash minstrel. In a rush of unexpected urgency, he beseeched the woman. "You must tell us!" Daryoon stepped forward to take her side and maybe even plead, but Narsus keep a hand on his arm to restrain him. "For the love of your own, HELP us!"

The old woman cocked her head, a weary change coming over her features. She gave a deep sigh. "I do wonder at Misra, trusting such a heavy burden to the likes of this lot." She gathered her simple but pristine robes and started to walk away. "It matters not if I tell you, it is quite impossible." The woman lead them deeper into the shrine, the usual bright airy spaces of Misra temple turning strangely darker and more confined. "We hold nothing here that would help you."

Daryoon stepped back and followed Narsus in pent-up anger.

"Nothing?" Narsus asked, unconsumed with it all and more concerned with practicality. They emerged into a much smaller room, lit only by dark red candles. "After all this way? You called us here for something."

Despite the spring heat that wafted pleasantly through the vast bright spaces of Misra’s Sanctuary, this room held a chill that they all seem to feel at once.

"There." She motioned quietly to a small altar on which lay a wicked curved blade, with the glossy red stone the Priests had used to slaughter innocents at their shrines. "The last of its kind, left after Makra’s own were forsaken by her, and left to be massacred by our Warrior Priestesses."

"Wait outside Elam." Narsus instructed the silent uneasy boy, who quickly obeyed, dashing back out into the sunlight.

"A good child," She smiled vaguely after him, "Misra holds him close."

"This is a true blade of Makra?" Gieve cleared his throat, shuddering. "A ritual blade used to murder children?"

She looked at him coldly. "All you have heard is true and more."

"We need this blade to do it?" Daryoon demanded impatiently, "To cross over?"

"This blade, or one of the other few artifacts that were left behind by the priests and priestesses of Makra. They are kept safe in several of Misra’s temples, hidden and kept like this blade."

"Why bother?" Gieve asked, the only one curious enough to get closer to the obscene thing that sat alone on the altar. "I have seen peddlers sell bits of Makra’s’ temples, I have even seen texts. They were old, but they exist. Makra’s followers left more than," he gestured at the lone knife,"..this!"

"These are dissimilar." She said, a note of fear entering her voice and making her sound like an old woman and not the Head Priestess of one of the most powerful Temples in the world. "These cursed artifacts come from the Isle itself, not crafted by human hands."

Pharangese nodded to herself. "We need something from the Isle to create passage."

Gieve shrugged. "Well then that isn’t so bad?" He looked the knife critically. "Did you know that your artifact has a crack in it?"

"What we have is damaged." The Head Priestess sighed deeply. "It would not work, it was used once to bring our Warriors to the Isle in the last great war and cannot be commisioned thus again."

Daryoon frown. "And the other artifacts?"

"The same." She said curtly, the authoritative tone in her voice turning ragged. "We had already attempted the ceremony before your arrival," she averted her gaze. "With tragic results." Her eyes for the first time lost their cold edge and filled with hopeless tears. "Our greatest Warriors have already been killed trying. You’ve come for nothing"

Narsus stepped forward. "Prepare your acolytes again my Lady," Narsus removed a pouch from belt and gingerly shook out the glossy rotten flower, "We have something from the Isle and we intend to use it."

* * *

She left them only with the advice that they meditate and purify themselves before walking into the realm Makra ruled. In the days that followed, they were counseled endlessly by scholars and religious advisors on the little known ways of Makra and what her land might hold for them according to the sacred scriptures.

Gieve was characteristically unimpressed by the lectures, being unable to sit still and listen to a person go on about any one thing for extended periods of time. Eventually, he used the time ignoring them to catch up on his sleep. Narsus spent these hours listening patiently to some of the most educated on Isle and meditating on what he had learned. It was decided Elam would remain behind, the mission unquestionably far too dangerous to include him. Elam tearfully and ungracefully received the news, only to disappear for hours at a time to the Temple grounds in a moody sulk that only the young can manage.

Daryoon tried to listen and remember each word and warning but came only away with bewildered confusion. An enemy who was not with a sword was nothing he could fathom. He could only trust in Narsus and his companions to rise where he could not, and do what he could. It was a rushed education by those who knew barely more than they did. And it did nothing to make them feel more prepared.

Daryoon urged them all to rest but could barely take his own advice.

The next night they were all called from their rooms in an unexpected anxious rush.

It was time. 

Daryoon had arrived in confusion with everyone else, stumbling into the vast chamber uncertainly and all just a little bit afraid. This was the place Pharangese had secreted herself, praying to Misra and opening a passage.

After two days, she had finally succeeded.

The air was changing tangibly, as if a storm was rushing in, making the atmosphere thick and heavy, the light leave the fire. The Lady stood regal in her shining battle garb, eyes closed in a trance, her long raven hair whipping around her stirred by the fury of the tempest. The air ripped like parchment and with a clap of thunder Daryoon could see a putrid ocher sky beyond the ragged tear. The Isle.

A dashing blur and Elam collided with Narsus, holding the older man around the waist and giving them all a brave and determined look.

It was too late to tell him to go back, Daryoon knew, and so did Narsus by the dark look he gave the boy. The light itself was shifting like sand in the wind. He looked to Gieve and to Narsus who were both looking back at him steadily, Elam was hiding his face into Narsus’s side.

Gieve gave a small shrug and a smile. "See you all!" He bellowed over the horrible noise.

Daryoon nodded. "On the other side!"

Narsus returned the nod, tightening his hold on Elam, as unsure as they all were of what would become of them.

The wind whipped fiercely and the howl of it grew so loud he could no longer hear Lady Pharangese’s steady chant, only watch her lips move in slow reverent prayer. The acolytes fled and there was a far off scream.

Then the temple around him was gone and so were they.

* * *

The first thing that occurred to Daryoon was that he could not feel his body, and for a terrible moment he thought that somehow during their strange journey he had been ripped from his physical self and sent adrift as some vapor of a spirit without being. But then the sharp tingle of needles ripped through this body as if it had been asleep, and reassuring him that his flesh had not been left behind.

"By the Goddess!" Gieve snarled somewhere near by. "Agh."

Daryoon forced himself to sit up, groaning as pain ripped through his muscles. "Is-is everyone alright?" He panted.

Narsus was only a few feet from him, silently leaning over trying to gain his breath, his hand on Elam’s back. Elam looked over to Daryoon with a brave, if not nervous, smile.

"Steady on Elam." Daryoon was the first to stand. It was no use reprimanding the child now. Gieve was clutching his head as he staggered upright next. "Are you sound Gieve?"

"Oh yes perfect." Gieve snapped. "I feel like-"

"Like-Like you’ve been ripped through a di-dimension." Narsus finished miserably for him.

A weak voice answered."Th-thank Misra we survived."

"Pharangese!" Daryoon was alarmed as soon as he saw her. Her ivory features were pallid as death, her form in a pain more profound than he knew he had experienced. He crouched by her side, Gieve quick to follow on the other side. "Are you wounded?"

"Only by my own doing." She gave a weak rueful smile at him. "It took much to cross so many of us."

"Can you stand my Lady?" Gieve asked in an unusual worried tone.

"Yes, give me a moment." She breathed in deeply and already Daryoon could see some color return to her pale cheeks.

Daryoon gave himself a moment to take a look at his surroundings. What he saw made his heart thud loudly in his chest.

They were sprawled on a shore beside a vast ocean. But it was like none Daryoon had ever witnessed on Earth. The ocean was a black that boiled and churned like slow moving oil. The small glistening waves that lapped at the rocky gray shore hissed back like snakes. The sky was a still flat yellow, a hard sulfur shade as if the sun had just gone down. But Daryoon knew there was no sun that shone here. There was a flat steady wind, brackish and stale, carrying a stagnant subtle rot of whatever that could live in the fearsome water, only to die and waste away under the blank sky along the craggy shore.

Elam broke the wary silence with what had exactly been on Daryoon’s mind.

"It’s so ugly."

Gieve shrugged. "I expected worse."

"You will get it." Pharangese was painfully standing with the help of Narsus.

"Look!" Elam rushed from their side to crouch by a patch of glossy black blooms that were almost hidden under a slab of rock. "Those flowers!"

"Do not touch them Elam." Narsus warned as Elam reached out to pluck one.

Elam gasped in surprise and fell back as one of the flowers snapped at him, its black petals grinding like a jaw.

"Their poison will only be greater here." Pharangese said. "Do not for moment trust your eyes in this place."

Daryoon nodded solemnly but was troubled. "How do I fight something if I can not trust it is really there?"

The Lady drew herself up, looking exhausted but steady. "This is Her realm Daryoon. This is not any battle field you have ever stepped upon before."

"Wonderful." Gieve sighed but was already a top the small rise of rock that loomed above them. "I don’t know about all of you, but if it has a sword I will take it for granted that it intends to do me harm!"

"We must hurry." Narsus had been silently studying the ghastly vista of the black sea. "What do you see Gieve?" He looked up to Gieve’s perch.

"I think you might want to see for yourself." Gieve snorted. "In all my years of travel, for all my sonnets, I could not do this view justice."

Daryoon reached his side first,"What is it?" He murmured in awe, his black cloak flowing around him the small wavering breeze.

The others came to stand beside him.

"That is the Temple. It is the Isle's only stronghold." Pharangese answered shortly.

The Temple was at the center of the isle, rising black and warped into the pallid sky. Yellow and black clouds shifted among it’s spires and pale lightening flickered high across its meandering dark walls.

"Let’s go. " Daryoon started off towards the Temple grimly, hoping Misra watched them no matter how far She might be.

* * *

Time played tricks when no sun traveled the sky and no shadows cast to warn you of an hour. By the time they had reached the outer walls and entered cautiously through many of the openings that lead into the enterior, Daryoon wasn’t sure if they had been travelling for a few hours or all day. The stone that rose around them was ancient, crumbling away when Daryoon let his hand cross it’s surface. They had not seen a single sign of a living thing. Not a bird or a single insect. The silence wore on them, and Daryoon felt the worry emenating from the group mount to anxiety. They all turned to Gieve when he broke the silence and startled them all.

"What a place." Gieve said flatly after looking both ways after they had found only more random turns and more walls.

Narsus crossed his arms. "A maze."

"Hm." Gieve chewed at his lip. "Give us a lift Daryoon."

Daryoon put his hands together as a step, knowing at once what Gieve meant to do. With a grunt and shove, Gieve was standing on top of the gray wall.

Gieve looked in all directions with a critical eye. "Elam!" Give called down to them. "You wanted to come along so badly? I will need your up here. If we both scout up ahead will have this maze behind us in no time!"

With a boost from Daryoon, Elam disappeared over the top of the wall, and then his excited voice could be heard. "Yes yes! This way!"

Daryoon moved in renewed confidence, ushering the Lady with one arm. He was about to reach and turn the far corner when he turned to make sure Narsus was with them. "Narsus! Hurry or we’ll lose you!"

Narsus was busy at the wall with his knife. "Yes, I am on my way!"

Shaking his head, Daryoon continued with a deep breath. The oppressive feel of the heavy thick stone walls that rose around them unnerved him. The fact that the towering gray passages meant to confound and lose them, was eerie and unsettling. But he kept one thought clear to help him focus. Arslan waited at the end of it.

* * *

It was a vast dark place he dreamt in. Room after room, each with no walls to close them only roaring hearths and glistening floors. He wandered until he finally started to run to escape each desolate chamber. But the next after next were empty but for the colossal doors that swung open for him as he ran.

There was no one until the young man. If it was a man at all. He was dressed in ivory and his feet were bare. His skin was a shade of blue, like frost, and his hair was white as snow.

"Who are you?" Arslan heard himself ask, aware he might be a bit out of his mind.

Do you enjoy my home? The boy asked politely.

Arslan backed away and stumbled to the ground in startled fear.

You don’t recognize me. His face was saddened.

"Who are you?"

Makra. The boy explained. Your true maker.

"Makra? Sh-She is a Goddess." Arislan’s voice trembled as he pushed himself away on the cold smooth floor.

Makra speaks through all of her own. All is Makra here.

"I haven’t seen anyone else?"

He was the last to escape the slaughter. The intent blanched eyes flared with a cold violet fire.

"A priest." Arslan said in shock.

Not any more. He smiled. I am Makra. I consumed him long ago. He placed a hand on his chest as if to disown the body. A figure appeared beside the thin white haired boy in the gloom. It’s skin as rough and course as stone, its body unclothed but sexless. I had to summon the earth itself to help me take you.

Arslan felt his eyes go wide. The man! Shattered images assaulted him, he remembered sleeping in his rooms and being awakened by the man who had appeared as if he had been burned. Could it really be the truth?

The figure bowed respectively, it’s dead colorless eyes expressionless. Had he really been taken to the Isle? "I want to go home."

You are so beautiful. You grew up well. He gestured to the side of him and an elaborate table was set there, sparkling with crystal and steaming food. Sit.

How long had he been wandering these endless halls? Arislan’s stomach ached at the sight of food.

You have very loyal friends.

"What?" A bolt of panic went through him.

Sit. Makra gestured again, his smile returning. I will tell you of their journey.

They were somewhere in this place? Arslan stood, and smoothed his dusty wrinkled clothes with shaky hands. "I will not eat at your table."

I hope they will join our army when you have been brought over to me. The thin boy was wistful and ignoring him. You are here with me now, but you will be brought to me fully. You will come to embrace me. You will embrace me as you do them.

All at once, Arslan could see it. As if it were a waking dream, the blackness that surrounded them ripped open into a battle ground. Red flames licked the sky and cities lay in ruins. A familiar figure sat atop his mount, its eyes glowing like coals, fiery smoke breathing through the demon horse’s warped mouth.

"Daryoon!" Arslan gasped.

Daryoon wore his black armor ragged from battle. The stern face was cold, his dark eyes dead, staring out into the night as it rained orange cinders onto a wasted land. Narsus was beside him, pleased as he watched what remain of the capital burn to ashes. Arslan saw Narsus’s genius plan it all, making each city fall beneath them. Gieve was there leading the black armies through each village and each town, laying it to waste.

You will bring these Warriors to me.

He saw the Lady Pharangese on a filthy altar, her throat slit and her eyes stolen, ragged sockets brimming with her blood. He saw Narsus offering Elam to a wicked dagger to ensure victory.

"Stop this!!" Arslan exploded, trying to turn away and cover his eyes but the image would not disappear. "Stop it!!"

But then the vision shifted, the mist parted to show hundreds of thousands of soldiers holding their weapons high and roaring his name. Arslan saw himself standing above them all in a victorious river of filth flowing like a water fall down into the center of the earth. His golden helmet was gone and replaced with a vile blood red suit of arms. He was older, uglier, a ragged scar disfigured his face. And all the world bowed at his feet in fear.

This is what you were meant for, what you will be.

"NO!" Arslan flung himself into the elaborate table in blind rage, smashing the fine dishes and crystal to the floor. Arslan collapsed in angry harsh tears his hands slashed by the fine glass and bleeding, unnoticed as he wept.

"Daryoon will find me." Arslan informed Makra coldly.

Daryoon. Makra said the name like a incantation and looked down at Arslan in pleased understanding.

The young Prince’s pale blue eyes shone in loathing. "I will never do anything you ask. Nothing!"

Makra’s face shifted to a deep resounding fury. His pale eyes burned and glowed in purple fire and a low rumble like thunder boomed somewhere above them.

You will. He assured him. All of you.

* * *

Thunder cracked above them, and the flat stale yellow of the sky began to stir in a angry mist. "Rain?" Daryoon looked up in wonder.

"I must rest." The Lady Pharangese said after they had been walking in silence for hours, following Gieve and Elam’s distant instructions.

"Very interesting." Narsus studied the towering walls that rose on either side of them.

"We should be close." Daryoon paused to look at him, worried at the confusion in Narsus’ voice. "Gieve says it is only a few more-"

"He has said that several times." Narsus was deep in thought, his hand on the wall.

"What is that?" Daryoon’s eyes narrowed. The walls so far had been featureless besides the cracks and crumbling of decay. The wall which Narsus had his hand on had a fresh crude X carved into it.

"Call back the others." Narsus said grimly. "We haven’t gotten anywhere."

Warm stagnant rain had begun to fall splashing onto the ground and staining the stone walls.

Gieve frown at the X. "You did that yourself at the entrance?"

"Yes, and several different marks along the way that I am sure will see if we continued, " Narsus nodded, "We have gone nowhere."

Elam fidgeted. "But Master! We have! I can see from atop the walls?" He looked up through the steady raindrops to the sky as a the wind suddenly gusted and the rain broke into a storm.

"Makra will keep us here until we perish!" Pharangese spoke over the wind. "This realm shifts as if reality were her very own thoughts!"

The young servant looked at the walls around them with renewed distrust.

Daryoon sighed, all of their progress suddenly turned into a set back, pushing the wet black hair back out of his eyes.

"Well what do we do then?" Gieve growled, frustrated through the increasing downpour. "We can’t go forward, we can’t go backward!" In a fit he kicked the wall.

"Calm yourself," the Lady told him, whipping around her soaked cloak, "We will think of something."

"What is that sound?" Gieve turned sharply from nursing his foot to look behind them as the rain started to pelt them even harder making it difficult to even hear each other. Daryoon felt a chill pass through him as he exchanged a troubled look with Narsus. He could hear something. A dull roar was growing louder and louder.

Elam cocked his head. "It sounds like." He paused. "Water."

"You wanted worse?" Pharangese asked Gieve, "I feel you will soon get it."

* * *

Daryoon. Is he what you dream of?

Makra watched Arslan sleep exhausted sleep and wondered at the boy. Worry no more, young Prince, you’re friends will all be dead. Dead or living I can still use them. If they are dead they will come easily to me.

The Chosen one’s youth made him soft, even in armor, he was still very light and graceful like his mother. Miss Tahamine made of glass and silk. Where did Andragoras think such a child could come from his clumsy like?

Makra sighed and listened to the steady pour of the rain that echoed through the passages. And smiled. Would you embrace Daryoon?

The candles went out one by one until the room returned to deep darkness and swallowed Arslan whole.

* * *

"RUN!"

Gieve’s demand was hardly necessary.

The dim roar grew to a deafening crashing explosion of a yellow wave of the rain water slammed into the far off corner they had turned, shattering rock and stone as it went. It started it’s relentless angry engulfing flow into their direction, sending shards of splintered stone into the sky as it impacted with each surface it found. The maze was flooding and the heavy rock walls were being knocked down like a child’s blocks.

Daryoon ran behind them half blinded by the warm rain, his heart racing. "Go, quickly!"

"Quickly?!!" Gieve yelled as they turned and then twisted down another hopeless passage of the maze. "It will be on top of us any moment!"

Elam was pointing straight ahead of them as they ran. "It’s blocked!"

"A dead end!" Gieve stopped and panted against the wall, ready to spit. "Now what?!"

"Pharangese!" Narsus grabbed Gieve’s arm and dragged the archer along with him. "Do you think Misra would oblige us?"

"Yes Narsus!" Pharangese raised her hands out as she ran. "I understand." Her quick words of prayer words were lost in the roar of the water that had turned the corner behind them and the hissing rain that pounded into the decayed rock.

Daryoon hurried after them wondering and hoping they knew more than he did.

"An arrow Gieve!" The Priestess cried. "Now!"

"What good will an arrow-"

"To the wall, Gieve, Hurry!" Narsus hissed from beside him.

Without breaking his stride and without another word Gieve smoothly drew his bow, notched an arrow and fired it into the solid wall they were running towards. As soon as it left his finger tips a blue glow leapt around its flight and fluttered like it was aflame in enchanted fire. Pharangese screamed the final word of her chant and the blue flicker turned into a lightening hot bolt that met then crashed into the dead blank wall, blasting it into jagged pieces. A large gapping hole was left as the rock surface collapsed and quickly settled.

"We can’t go forwards or backwards?" Narsus gave them all a small smile as they rushed towards it. "We will go down!"

Daryoon couldn’t help the feeling of triumph as he helped the last of his companions through the hole Gieve and Pharangese had made with divine help. As he dropped down into the dark and heard the water collide into the wall above, he knew for certain that their every move was being watched.

Makra had struck out.

But, Makra had missed.

Real hope flooded him for the first time and his mind focused to a fine point.

We are coming Arslan.

* * *

"My Lord?" A voice so far away drifted to him as he slept. "My Lord, Arslan wake up!"

"Daryoon?" Arslan’s eyes opened slowly, the haze of exhaustion trying to drag him back into his strange and horrible dream. The candles flickered in a strange pink light, the sound of the ocean rang as if out from a delicate sea shell pressed to his ear.

"You were dreaming, Highness." Daryoon’s voice was worried.

"Daryoon." Arslan reached up to wrap his arms around the strong body that leaned over him closing his eyes in awed relief. "Oh Daryoon." The Warrior smelled of earth and the sword.

"I am here Highness." Daryoon assured him in a soft tone that was more welcome than the warmth of a fire in the cold of winter.

Arslan clung to the powerful frame and felt the Warrior’s body sink into the soft bed with him, and then he felt his own hot tears run down his face. "Is this really my room?"

"There is such fear in your eyes Highness. No need for fear."

Arslan held the warrior tighter and couldn’t stop the hot tears that burned down his pale cheeks. Daryoon took a crushed flower that had adorned Arslan’s hair and pulled the bruised petals from his pale locks. His hand paused at Arslan’s neck, pushing the rose colored silk from the ivory skin above the steady thud of the young Prince’s heart.

"Do not be," Daryoon breathed into his ear, arms, strong and safe crushed Arslan against his chest. "I will never let anything happen to you."

Arslan sighed in desperate relief, and then in frantic want when Daryoon’s mouth pressed to his. It was everything he had wanted, this surrender, this haven in the warrior’s embrace.

No one could harm him here, no one could ever hurt him in this soft place, his chambers and soft candle light comforted him. He ran trembling hands over the dark defined muscle of Daryoon’s arms and clutched at his back as Daryoon kissed him, and undressed him.

"I was in some awful place." Arslan moaned when the humid night air was all that clung to his skin, his clothes gone, and his lithe body pressed against the powerful heat of Daryoon’s presence.

Daryoon’s gloved hands ran down his sides, and down his thighs making him shiver.

Arslan’s face flushed pink as he realized how terrible it was to lay naked under this man and have to admit he knew nothing about love. But Daryoon simply kissed him, moving against his mouth with warm sweet heat, and moving his hands along the boy like a silken drape. The Warrior breathed into him, moving over his body and between his thighs in gentle violence. Arslan gasped in pleasure, as his body was taken so softly, his thighs held firmly in those dark hands. He wrapped his arms around Daryoon’s neck in a choked sob and pressed his hips up against the Warrior. "Daryoon-"

Arslan moaned as the sweet warmth of sensation doubled and his pleasure grew to unendurable heights. The body above him, began to move faster, the soft even movements grew stronger. "Dar-"

"Accept me your Highness."

Why was Daryoon clutching him so tight , why were his gentle hands now turning painful? Arslan blinked through the curtain of black hair that was in his face, why now, why was Daryoon here now as he always wanted? Why were his dreams coming true?

Arslan cried out, and the soft movements were now fierce, the sweet gentle pleasure was a consuming heat. The heat turned to fire and the pleasure turned surreal. Arslan felt his entire being tense and the weight of Daryoon’s body was gone but his touch lingered. His pale blue eyes fluttered open in confusion.

_Embrace me._

There was darkness where Daryoon had been, his body was pressed down , his thighs were held in a pale phantom grasp. His mouth was ravaged by humid darkness, the skin of his stomach rubbed by an invisible hand.

"No.." Arslan choked, his body still being consumed, his skin being stroked by the air itself, his hands tangled in knots of shadow as it kissed his fingertips, his mouth and his hair. It had been a deception, the seduction had been a lie.

"No." He said weakly, as his body was taken and he felt his mind begin to slip into Makra’s embrace.

to be continued...


	4. The Darkness

Arslan shrugged off his worn silk tunic and stepped out of the soft leggings that pooled at his feet. "I don’t need these any more." His voice rang and clear through the crisp cold air of the concaved room.

An obsidian statue with many raised arms sat before him, three times his height and with its shining dark limbs crossed at the ankles. It regarded him silently.

"I was born once to Misra." Arslan dragged a wilted flower from his hair and snapped a delicate chain from around his neck. "These gifts are from that life." He flung them aside with a small sneer.

The colossal statue shifted its arms in a sequenced wave of mute agreement.

Arlsan stood nude before it and smiled. "I will be born again." The Crown Prince sat languidly into the cold smooth lap of the thing and lay back against one of it’s arms. "Very soon."

The many arms all suddenly came alive like serpents, reverently stroking his skin and touched his hair.

"This skin." Arlsan examined his pale hand as if for the first time. "I wish for a new skin."

The many hands fluttered to his will, and brushed his body with a dark inks, the liquid fanning viciously across his skin like blood, weaving designs delicate and simple, over his arms and across his abdomen. "I will take him with me." Arslan sighed beneath the gentle strokes. "Daryoon."

* * *

It was a strange darkness, swirling and unbearably thick. The torch Gieve managed didn’t light the passage around them as much as illuminate their faces. It was as if the light had never once touched this place at all, and battled for each inch it possessed against the omnipresent dark.

Daryoon was charged with a small sense of victory. "Makra failed."

"Yes, Her attempt to do away with us fell short." Narsus observed. "Almost..." he murmured, barely heard over the sound of their progress.

"Scarcely!" Gieve snorted pointedly. "I don’t understand. This is her world, if she wanted us dead, why not do it with a thought? It doesn’t seem as if it would be a much of a problem."

Pharanguese nodded. "It would seem, but she must obey fate and chance along with the rest of us."

Narsus continued. "If she was truly all powerful she would have just taken Arslan without aid of her golem, and if Misra was the same, she would have just as easily stopped it Herself."

Gieve shrugged. "You all amaze me, after all of that you still think we have a chance."

"Of course." Daryoon said curtly, becoming uneasy.

"Look!" Elam was pointing in excitement. "What’s that ahead?"

The dark passage was coming to an end.

It was a large cavern, filled with a dim bluish light from no source any of them could determine. It seemed to emanate from the rocks themselves, and Narsus gathered a soft, faintly luminescent fungus on the end of his fingertip. "Beautiful in some ways." he said pensively.

"So they say of women," Gieve shrugged, touching the strange plant matter than covered the rock walls. "Even the most mundane have something which makes them divine." He smeared the glowing substance across his cloak. "All hogwash if you ask me."

There was a small decline from the mouth of the passage down to the cavern floor. A single narrow of grayish rock lead across the vast space and disappeared in the murk on the other side. The raised stone path was surrounded by a pitch black sea of a treacherous lazy thrash of fluid.

What they could see was likely twice the size of any battlefield.

"What is this?" Gieve asked, his voice very loud in the empty silence.

"I don’t know." Narsus walked down the small crumbling slope to the edge of the dark canal.

"Careful Narsus." Daryoon warned. The black liquid writhed and crawled as the strategist approached it.

"I would wager your uncle’s sword that is not water." Gieve said dryly.

Daryoon gave him a cold look and stepped firmly up onto the stone step testing his footing and it’s strength. "Let’s get on with it."

They walked single file along the crumbling path. Daryoon kept casting nervous glances to the churning black on either side of them, only a few feet away.

"I don't like this," Elam said nervously, voicing his disconcern for once in a long while.

"It isn’t much further." Narsus said from behind him, a steadying hand on his tiny shoulder.

"Yes Master, the water it...it just frights me."

Gieve gave a low indulgent laugh. "Water? What can it do, maybe soak us to death."

"Keep walking," Daryoon said, his nerves set on an uneven edge. He wanted off of this strange perilous bridge as soon as possible.

"Look here," Gieve picked up a stray dark stone that lay by his feet. "Completely harmless!"

Daryoon turned to see what Gieve was about to do. "Gieve don’t-"

Gieve hurled the stone into the water at an angle, probably to make it skip the coiling surface and make Elam smile. But the stone struck the water’s oily surface and was caught. The ooze enveloped it quickly. All at once the slow rolling surface became agitated and turbulent.

"Quickly!" Pharangese urged them from the very back. "Just a few more--"

Suddenly the black substance coiled out like a whip and latched with a shrill hiss onto Pharanguese’s arm.

She gasped in alarm and drew her sword.

"My Lady!" Gieve’s blade contacted the tendril and sank through it only to emerge from the other side with no effect. Several more ropes of the oily slick hissed out with surprising quickness and coiled around her neck and leg. She stumbled towards the waiting hungry pool below. Elam dashed to her side and put himself between her and the black mire, straining with all his strength.

"The blade!" Daryoon panted in effort, trying to keep her on the rocky path. "It did nothing!"

Narsus deflected two new coils with his sword that leapt toward her only to have them slither around him. "Gieve! Your torch!"

Gieve released his grasp from the Priestess to pick up the fallen torch, and pressed it into the masses of inky tendrils that were dragging her over the side.

Nothing.

Daryoon suddenly saw the flash of the symbol of Misra that lay around her neck. Without thinking of his own actions, he ripped the chain from the Priestess’s neck and thrust the chain and symbol deep into the sluggish black mess that moved hungrily over her. There was an audible shriek and the oily muck suddenly shrank, springing back as if in horror, it began to whip back into it’s pool as fast it had come.

But Elam was in the way.

"Elam!" Narsus gasped.

Elam tumbled backwards with a frightened cry, knocked over by the retreating black tendrils. To the horror of all present, he plunged into the inky water with a dull heavy splash.

Narsus lunged through them, landing hard on the path’s edge, and grabbed Elam’s arm. "I’ve got you!"

But the water would not give up its prey. For as soon as he began to pull the coughing boy to safety, the oily mass vibrated and roiled, pulling them both under with terrifying speed.

"Narsus!" Daryoon grasped him across the waist and felt Gieve and the Lady anchor him even further. Narsus disappeared up to his shoulders.

Daryoon groaned bracing himself with every once of strength he possessed, trying to keep Narsus from slipping out of his hands and into the abyss. Then all of a sudden the pull disappeared and with a jolt, Daryoon flew backwards with Narsus on top of him.

Narsus’s arms were empty.

They were all silent for a moment, panting in disbelief. But then Narsus lunged forward as if to jump into the water after the boy.

"No Narsus." Daryoon hissed breathlessly, keeping a strong grip that was still around his waist and shoulders.

Narsus struggled to free himself from the warrior one last time. "He-"

"He is gone."

Narsus said nothing.

They all stood up and continued on their way, none of them looking down into the black water as they went. The slow boil of it’s surface returned, and like a gratified beast, it slept.

* * *

They were consumed. Daryoon could barely place another foot in front of the other. The small flame he had cherished since their escape from the wall of water sent by Makra to halt them, was now cold and dead. None of them had said a word since the narrow stone bridge. The vast chamber had finally given way to another narrow winding passage that showed no sign of ending. He looked sadly over his shoulder to Narsus. Narsus looked as Daryoon could never remember him being in all of the turbulent days and uncertain nights. The elegant confidence was missing, he looked defeated and even worse, lost.

"We should sleep while we can."

"I’ll take watch." Gieve said solemnly. "If I hadn’t been such a fool-"

"Stop." Daryoon said curtly, his sense of duty surging through his weariness even as his body begged to sag to the cold uneven ground and rest. Gieve’s mouth worked in frustration that Daryoon knew all too well. Gieve had tossed the stone into the dark waters but Daryoon hadn’t taken a moment to consider that Gieve may find himself at fault. "Two hours, I will take watch." He couldn’t quell Gieve’s doubts now, he didn’t have it in him to even try. Harm would befall them regardless of caution, and what Gieve did or didn’t do would not change that. Elam should have never journeyed with them, and if it hadn’t happened on the narrow stone bridge it was more than likely to happen somewhere else. This land was no place for a child no matter how clever.

Daryoon gritted his teeth and forced his thoughts away from what he should or should not have done. How could he possibly lighten Gieve’s spirit when his own was so heavy with now not one, but two losses?

"Get some sleep." He managed softly, and put a firm hand on the archer’s shoulder.

When was the last time any of them had slept? One weary glance at his companions and he felt his need to close his eyes pass quickly. They sat one by one onto the ground, strong warriors each were casting fearful looks to every shadow, their eyes hard, their movements slowed by exhaustion.

Gieve wrapped himself in his cloak and leaned against the passage wall. "Wake me in an hour Daryoon, you need sleep just like the rest of us mortals." Gieve settled down as comfortably as he could, one hand laying in wait on his sword.

The Priestess looked at Daryoon in silent thanks, and then to Narsus in undisguised sorrow. Narsus was turned away from them both using slow determined movements to pull his cloak around his shoulders and find sleep.

Daryoon sat in the center of the passage determined to watch over them.

* * *

"Daryoon?" The voice was soft so as to not disturb the precarious hold on sleep that the others found.

The sound startled him.

Daryoon shook himself, and breathed in deeply. Had he been dozing off? He looked to Pharanguese and Gieve and nothing had changed. His mind was wandering in the silence and the steady cadence of numbers he used to determine the sluggish passage of time.

"You should use this time to rest Narsus." Daryoon said shortly. If he said any more he was fearful his voice might waver or crack.

Narsus moved to his side, his face pale and drawn. His voice was tired and almost angry. "I know how you feel now."

Daryoon looked at him sharply.

"Losing what you are responsible for." Narsus explained.

The words stung sharper than Daryoon was prepared for. He looked down and away his face burning with shame.

"Should we go on like this?" Narsus asked him softly. "Keep going until one by one we are dead?"

Daryoon couldn’t stand to look Narsus in the eyes. "Yes, if that is what it takes."

Narsus’s light touch was on his shoulder. "Will you take all of us to our deaths, because of your one great failure?"

Daryoon felt his vision blur as he stared down hard at the ground. "I-"

"Quiet Daryoon. Quiet." Narsus told him, his voice going so soft, and the weight of head was resting on Daryoon’s shoulder. "How could have you possibly known what we had to overcome here?"

"Narsus-"

"How could you have known you would have been defeated so quickly?"

"Narsus-"

"We should have never come." Narsus’s light touch became firm, almost desperate. "It’s not too late. We can leave this place before we meet Elam's fate."

Daryoon was silent. Narsus's persuasion was exquisite. It wasn’t too late. They could call back the forces that sent them here and return home before Pharanguese was too weak or even dead.

"We can leave this place Daryoon." Narsus told him.

Daryoon wanted to collapse in his arms like a child and beg for his forgiveness. First Arslan, and then Elam, it was all his fault if not in one way then another. They trusted him and followed where he lead. How many more failures could he endure before he snapped into pieces?

"We can leave before you’ve killed us all." Narsus said and stroked his hair. "She is too powerful and too clever. She wants us to chase our tails, she wants to be amused by our efforts. Do you not see?"

Daryoon’s mind was racing. What if all of this was a trap? What if all they had done was to keep them busy elsewhere while Makra went on without them. What if Makra wanted them to stay? What if she wanted them to come here in the first place? Daryoon groaned as his thoughts turned in on themselves, his clear path turning complex and confused.

"Shhh Daryoon." Narsus pulled the Warrior to him in an embrace. "If you have ever listened to my words before don’t doubt me now."

Daryoon felt the first warm flare of anger towards his friend and tried to ignore it. Angry at Narsus? He was only speaking the truth. His failure, his failures. Maybe there was another way. If they left maybe their was some other way to do battle with Makra from the living world? Maybe their journey here was to destroy them when they should be waging war on the mortal plain?

"Yes. There is another way Daryoon, we were so pompous to think we could walk into Her world and win."

Daryoon’s thoughts stopped as he felt his skin go cold.

Narsus did not pause in his gentle stroke. "We have been defeated and it is time we gave up."

He read my thoughts. How did he read my thoughts? Daryoon forced vivid images of his anger unleashed on Makra in bloodshed and rage. The reflections of horror flowed after the initial hesitation to invite a nightmare. Daryoon conjured the devastation Makra promised. What use would his service be to Misra if he died before the armies had even amassed to shoot the first arrow?

"You will still have your war." Narsus assured him.

Daryoon pushed Narsus away staring hard into Narsus’s face, waiting for the shock, or the anger at his violence.

Narsus did neither. "When will you stop this insane quest? Why don’t you cut my throat right now?" He ripped his cloak away and bared his throat to him.

Daryoon looked around frantically, his warriors hands unsteady on the hilt of his sword. His eyes narrowed. "What, are you mad Narsus?"

"Mad? No, for the first time I know when to acquiesce. Is it not time you learned?" The corner of his mouth curled in disgust

Daryoon shook his head unwilling to yield to the calm logic he normally committed to without question. "I do not know where this treachery stems from Narsus, but as I live I will not abide by it." Something was terribly wrong. 

Narsus stood facing him. "I was very close to convincing you." Narsus’s face began to shift like water. "You would have done well to have obeyed me."

Daryoon backed away in horror as Narsus’s entire body rippled and settled into a black shape with red fire for eyes and a gaping jagged mouth. The horrible visage rippled again only to settle into the form of a man child, his skin tinged blue and his hair pale white.

Very well Daryoon, by all means continue.

Daryoon’s eyes opened and he sat up in a sudden jerk, his body soaked in a clammy cold sweat. "Narsus." He swung his head into the passage where Narsus had been standing. But he wasn’t there, he was still laying where Daryoon’s vigil had last left him.

He stood half panicked with confusion. Pharanguese and Gieve were undisturbed by his movement, tired enough and too deep in the sleep of exhaustion. But Narsus was moaning softly and had tossed away his cloak in his agitation.

"Narsus?" Daryoon knelt by him in alarm. "Wake up!" Narsus’s skin was warm to the touch and glazed with sweat.

"Daryoon," Narsus mumbled somewhere far deep within his dreams. "Dar-"

"Narsus!" Daryoon forced the other man to sit up and shook him violently.

Narsus awoke with a ragged gasp and a shaken look in his eyes.

Daryoon searched his face anxiously. "It was a conjury Narsus," He explained, "We were dreaming." Daryoon felt a bolt of uncontrollable anger soak through his body. "She can enter our dreams, She, She-"

"Daryoon." Narsus lay a trembling hand on the warrior’s face in a disturbing echo of his actions while Daryoon had lay sleeping only moments before. "I knew it could not be you to say those things..."

"She wants me to give up." Daryoon stammered. "I fell to sleep and you told me I should just give up." He was aware somehow that he was making very little sense but the words came with his outrage and his nervous exhaustion.

Narsus’s startled face turned thoughtful. "She wants us to leave."

Daryoon was aware that the others had woken at the sound of their voices. "We must be close." He released Narsus and began to collect what little he had. Action and motion kept him from thinking about what had seemed so real and the lingering shame that was as genuine as the tears that threatened and burned at his eyes. He ignored the confused look in Gieve’s eyes and the open question that was on the Priestess’s lips.

Narsus stood and placed a hand on his arm to stop him. "The things She said," Narsus squeezed Daryoon’s forearm hard. "They are things she knows weaken us."

"Enough."

"Never for one moment did I or will I ever blame you." Narsus simply said.

Daryoon was nearly at the end of his frayed rope. "Damn it all! What difference does it make? Elam-"

"The difference is that she cannot stop us." Narsus simply said. "It was her last best attempt Daryoon. There’s nothing left to stop us except Makra Herself."

Trial by water, trial by darkness, trial by fear? Narsus was right, She had exhausted Her tricks and they had come so far.

Daryoon could only trust his tongue enough to be silent as he waited for them to collect themselves. And as they moved forward into the darkness he wondered what Narsus had been told in his dream. What had his phantom shadow said to Narsus? And why had he been forgiven so easily?

* * *

The darkness here had a character of its own. The weak phosphorescence Pharangese could provide was no match for the miles and miles of unending night, the overwhelming uncertainty of their destination. There was dwindling air, uncertain space and little time. He thought he could feel the fluttering of the Lady's cloak as she walked before him, Narsus at his back and Gieve taking up the rear. Only the mingled footsteps and determined breaths of his companions brought him a comfort of sorts.

"Stay close."

It was Pharangese’s voice just a few feet before him striding into the darkness fearlessly. The light that clung to her wavered and dimmed.

"Pharangese!" Daryoon groped blindly in the darkness, lunging wildly forward, searching for the cloak, but he touched nothing. The light was gone.

"My lady!" Gieve's panicked voice surged from behind, stumbling into him. "Where are you?"

"Gieve!" Daryoon shouted, holding his arm out to prevent Gieve from running into the same darkness that had swallowed the lady.

"There, she is ahead!" Narsus's voice seemed to come from a few feet away, but hollow as if he stood behind a wall. "Daryoon, where are you?"

"Here!" Daryoon growled, plunging forth into the darkness.

"Daryoon?" Gieve's voice receded, then faded.

Daryoon cursed. "By the Goddess!" His fist hardened in the dark. "Gieve?"

There was no reply. Was this some method Makra wanted to use to divide them? Let her, he was ready. Faintly Daryoon heard his name spoken like a whisper from far away lucky to have been caught on the wind. "My Lady?"

The voice urged him forward through the black growing stronger when he felt he had lost it, and growing softer when he moved quickly and sure even with his sight taken. It was a long while before Daryoon realized that the uniform void had begin to turn to a shade of warm candle light. He found himself not in the company of his friends whose voices had urged and pulled him all this while, but instead into a deep well of a chamber surrounded by thick ebony columns that glistened with the caverns condensation.

Daryoon stepped uncertainly onto the glossy dark surface of the floor, his sword slipping slowly from it’s scabbard as he scanned the room.

His heart stilled for a moment in his chest. The room was empty save for a hideous statue that sat opposite of him, no more than twenty steps and Daryoon would be able to touch it.

But in the arms of the thing lay the object of their long search. The Crown Prince at last was found.

* * *

Narsus stumbled out of the darkness and collapsed against the ragged stone passage wall. The gloom that seeped around him had made it hard to breathe. He looked around hoping to see one of the others.

And then there it was. A faint call that echoed against the stone and reached him. It was Gieve. Narsus headed towards the source of it, confident he would find them all. The strange heavy dread Makra had held over their spirits seemed as if it had vanished, the darkness that had confounded him seemed desperate. Feeling closer to the end of their destination than he had ever felt before, Narsus pressed on to finish it.

* * *

"Daryoon!" Arslan stood with his arms out in disbelief and his eyes glittering with tears.

"Highness." The warrior breathed unwilling to trust his eyes. At first he thought the Crown Prince was wearing something black and a deep blue that fit close to his skin but then he realized with a slow moving dread that he was mistaken. It was paint. The Prince was nude.

"I am so glad to see you Daryoon!" Arslan sighed not moving from his place before the warped statue.

His emotions rubbed raw, Daryoon almost sobbed in confusion. "My Prince? We must leave-" 

"Come sit by me Daryoon?" Arslan sat down in the lap of the many armed statue. "I have so much to tell you." He smiled warmly. "We have much to plan. Tell me, where are the others?"

After all this time, Daryoon could walk a few feet to touch Arslan but Arslan was further from him than had ever been. Daryoon stood very still, his grip trembling on the hilt. "You have been treated well your Majesty?"

"Oh yes." Arslan lay back into a obsidian arm and his smile disappeared. "It would displease me to hear you use that tone any further Daryoon. It is unforgivable to suggest otherwise."

His throat felt dry. "You seem changed my Lord." 

"Do I?" The smile came back but it was detached and vacant. He idly stroked the smooth stone arm that supported him. "But my mind has never been more clear."

Daryoon turned his head slightly to either side of him, the overwhelming sense of another presence, a fiercely malevolent force seemed to flow through the rock itself. The air was charged with it. Like the damp thick before a storm or the heat that came like waves off of men in battle well into the madness. But the chamber was deserted.

Except for the Prince.

And the statue.

Daryoon eyes traveled up the shiny surface of the thing and up to it’s massive misshapen head.

It was looking down at him. And it was smiling. 

* * *

He was at the heart of it. He was there.

Daryoon wasn’t sure how long he sat slumped against the base of the statue. His mind went in and out of focus, returning to him some sense of alarm and a dull urgent sense of something he was supposed to be doing. It was good that he had found the Prince, and had found him safe. Surely that was what nagged at the corners of his mind? He pushed it away, and let his thoughts be carried where Arslan brought them. He would not leave his side again. He heard Arslan’s voice drifting around him telling him about the war that was coming. It was a grand war, and Daryoon would have much to do to organize the armies Arslan promised.

"Oh!" Arslan mentioned almost casually. "A life shall ensure your loyalty should you have any quandaries regarding your duties."

Daryoon looked up and up. For one small moment he felt wonder and relief but it was swept away with Arslan’s words. "It has been so very long that the Goddess was honored by the blood of a child."

It was Elam that hung by his wrists from one motionless arm, a crude leather strap in his mouth. Arslan let the back of his hand run down Elam’s tear stained cheek and then looked to Daryoon. Elam whimpered, his bruised wrists twisted in their binds. His frightened eyes looked to Daryoon in confusion. Whatever Elam saw in the Warrior’s face caused more tears.

"She gave him to me but I’d rather you do it Daryoon." He smiled warmly and patiently. "It will bind you to my purpose." He knelt beside the warrior and pressed his mouth to his. "Forever."

Daryoon opened his mouth to Arslan and felt a sublime peace. The delicate pale hands of his Prince held his face as the kiss went on and on. Daryoon felt the world spin away and his cares went with it. Elam’s death was a very small deed to do for the Crown Prince. He would happily do anything he was asked.

Arslan withdrew, biting at his lower lip. "You will be my greatest strength Daryoon." He breathed. "You will be at my side and we shall rule the world."

The statue writhed and twisted it’s obscene limbs around like a sea flower. Daryoon experienced a perfect understanding, clarity reaching him in his daze of the power that ebbed and flowed around him. Makra was in the statue, Makra was in the walls themselves. She was on the steady wind and she was the black water that crashed on Her shores. They were enveloped within her as if in the womb. Why did they ever try to withstand her might? It was an honor to be welcomed by her finally, and Daryoon kissed Arslan back violently knowing she was in him as well. He wanted to hear her sigh in the air that hung around them in anticipation.

Daryoon wanted to make elaborate pledges to him, and assure Her of his unwavering loyalty but all he could manage was a vague nod. Then something caught his blurred gaze. It was Narsus. And behind him was Gieve, along with the Priestess.

It was good that the others finally arrived. The Warrior’s head rolled to the side to look at them. It was all the will left to him. He wanted to speak and tell them they had much to do and they should help him up. Arslan was still talking and seemed not to notice that they stood in the far off passage. The very same passage Daryoon had stood in when he arrived.

"Daryoon." Pharanguese said softly in a disbelieving voice.

Arslan’s steady speech abruptly stopped.

"Stand up Daryoon." Arslan said.

All at once the Warrior felt his mind clear and the heavy weighty fog that bound him immobile evaporated. He watched his hand close on the hilt of his sword as if something had taken hold of his own being like a puppet with strings. He watched in wonder as the glimmering sheen of his blade hissed out of it’s scabbard and poised forward.

Arslan’s voice was very low. "Bring me that Priestess’s head."

"Yes your Highness."

Daryoon charged, energy shifting through him like water over an edge, flowing down in violence to thunder at the base of his body.

Gieve was suddenly before him. "Stop!"

His sword met his and with power Daryoon knew was not his own, Gieve’s blade was shattered like glass. The useless hilt flew out of the archers grasp and was hurled against the stone wall with such force it made sparks.

Gieve collapsed to his knees clutching his wounded hand.

Daryoon moved to deliver the final stroke but his way was blocked.

Narsus was there, his eyes narrowed and his sword flying down in a deadly arc.

The Priestess called out as Narsus’s sword met and shattered Daryoon’s breast plate at the shoulder. Metal clashed and rang, until Narsus and Daryoon’s blades were locked, Narsus slowly began to tremble from the force of it, his mortal strength barely a match to the power that was bestowed into his foe’s form.

"Daryoon-" Narsus gasped, their faces only inches apart. "In the dream Makra gave me, you told me- you told me that you never had love for me."

Daryoon blinked at him, his forward strain to annihilate the strategist ebbing.

"I knew that it wasn’t true Daryoon." He said to him almost sadly. "I knew Makra failed because she was foolish enough-" Narsus stumbled backwards but kept his footing, Daryoon’s sword slid forward. The warrior heard the tense voices of the others, their warnings and concern. It was obvious the fight was going to be over very soon. "-she was so foolish to believe I could be made to doubt you."

"Silence." Daryoon’s head was swimming, he wanted to have done with this business. The Prince was waiting for him-

"Why?" Narsus demanded. "Why are we here?"

Daryoon groaned as his thoughts spun out of control, his mind fought the onslaught. There had been something terribly important, something vital...

"Arlsan!" Narsus managed even as he fell to his knees, the sword buckling under the enhanced strength. "You had done it, you found him."

Daryoon’s killing stroke stilled in mid air, a hairs breath from Narsus’s heaving chest. Arslan. They had been searching for him...

A soft white light pulsed.

Daryoon fell to his knees in a daze. "What-?"

Pharanguese stepped forward. "Makra’s hold on you is gone."

"I wish you hadn’t done that." Arslan stood with a delicate scowl on his face.

Narsus helped Daryoon to his feet with a small smile on his face. His gaze shifted towards Arslan and Elam, his look hardened. "If you have harmed him Highness-" Narsus began angrily.

Arslan was frowning. "Be quiet." He ordered in disgust. "All of you will serve me as I wish it. It is an honor to be bled for Her."

Narsus was about to speak when Daryoon stopped him. "Don’t." The warrior said, pressing his hand over his wounded shoulder with a wince.

"I see." Pharanguese said grimly. She stepped forward. "I have no choice." With one movement, she shrugged off her cloak in a graceful flair and steadied her sword before her. She addressed the Crown Prince. "My Lord, we have come to late. Makra has ensnared you. I as a Priestess of Misra have committed myself to your return."

Arslan regarded her with surprise. "You will die trying."

Pharanguese nodded. "Perhaps." She drew her sword and room filled with a pearly light that glinted off it’s edges like morning sunlight.

**Wait.**

A pale skinned boy emerged from the shadows that lingered and slithered behind the grotesque statue.

_I smell a Priestess. I have not smelled the rot of one for many centuries._

"Finally you reveal yourself." She said, her steel gray eyes locked on the seemingly frail form.

What makes you think little Priestess, that you, could ever harm me?

All at once the colors and shapes in the room shifted as if the reality around them had been pierced. Daryoon looked up fearfully, the air around him swept away, and the vague light suddenly splintered with a deafening boom, turning into jagged bright tears all around them. What was Makra doing? He looked to the boy that burned with Makra’s essence and instead of fury and promise, he saw something shocking.

Fear.

The light swirled around Pharanguese’s form, the shine pouring into every detail of her body, running like molten light across her face, into her eyes. It reached to an unbearable brightness, forcing Daryoon to throw his arms up over his eyes.

It subsided, leaving Pharanguese in a steady pulse. Her features were lost to the uniform light that had enveloped her. This Priestess will not. 

Makra stumbled back, eyes glowing in rancid purple loathing.

The elegant form, now made ethereal with divine light held out her sword, dripping with white fire. But I will.

Daryoon felt his mouth fall open. Makra had taken the boy Priest’s body as her vessel. Now her sister Goddess had taken Pharanguese as hers.

Misra had arrived.

to be concluded...


	5. The End

_The light swirled around Pharanguese’s form, the shine pouring into every detail of her body, running like molten light across her face, into her eyes. It reached to an unbearable brightness, forcing Daryoon to throw his arms up over his eyes. It subsided, leaving Pharanguese in a steady pulse. Her features were lost to the uniform light that had enveloped her._

_This Priestess will not._

__

__

Makra stumbled back, eyes glowing in rancid purple loathing.

The elegant form, now made ethereal with divine light held out her sword, dripping with white fire. But I will.

Daryoon felt his mouth fall open. Makra had taken the boy Priest’s body as her vessel. Now her sister Goddess had taken Pharanguese as hers.

 _Misra had arrived._

Daryoon’s breath was knocked from his body as he struck the stone floor, pain exploding through his wounded shoulder like fire. The deafening roar of Misra’s molten white light met and for a moment consumed the small pale figure that stood by the statue. It did not remain consumed, a dark red, like a bloody heated sunset over a littered battlefield exploded in a vile blossom of its own.

The obscene idol exploded, shattering like glass, and sending its glittering shards like deadly missiles in every direction. Elam was thrown to the floor, and Narsus lunged for him, coiling his body around the boy and tossing up his cloak to protect him from the jagged debris.

Everyone was lost in it, as if the substance of the room had evaporated with Makra’s focus and power. What was once a confined chamber was now vast and infinite, stone and sculpture hanging from nothing in the strange dark. Daryoon fought to control his fear, keep his mind clear. Of the many times he had faced death, never before had he encountered the like.

"Daryoon!" Narsus was calling over the storm of the fight, a razor straight line of blood across one cheek, a small knife slicing through Elam’s bonds.

Daryoon turned his head from the incredible sight and saw Narsus hauling Gieve to his feet, still clutching his wounded hand. Elam weakly attempted help, more exhausted than wounded.

The light was blinding them, they could not remain in this place for long and survive. The dueling powers surging and colliding pulled at the very essence of his being, as if the very thing that he consisted off was being yanked apart at the seams. Daryoon watched as the flesh of his trembling hand warped like a nightmare as a wave of power rippled through them all. The heavy crash of stone shocked him back to life, the solid room no longer held firm but instead fragile, wavering. Heavy rock turned brittle and weak as dust. He painfully staggered upright.

But Narsus was hollering over the confusion, pulling at Daryoon’s arm. The warrior lifted his head to see what Narsus was gesturing wildly at.

It was a seam of perfect light, unaffected by the swirling violence that crashed and swayed around them. A line of pure white that did not waver as Daryoon felt his very soul writhe before the power of two Goddesses.

It was a fissure.

It was a way home.

Daryoon’s dim hopes soared. The Goddess Misra was giving them a chance, one last portal to escape this danger with their lives.

The perfect line flickered as the battle raged to a new height.

"She can not keep it open long Daryoon!" Narsus shouted, dragging him close to impress his words. Daryoon nodded, turning listlessly towards the swirling vortex.

Narsus's voice was at fever pitch, his eyes wide. "Are you mad? Where are you going!" He pulled relentlessly at his shoulder.

Daryoon cast him aside, nearly sending him sprawling into the bright fissure. "Go Narsus, take Gieve and Elam out of this place." He didn’t know if Narsus could hear him over the roar.

He was not leaving just yet.

He plunged into the light.

Not without Arslan.

It was strangely calm in the center of the storm. Daryoon felt himself drift through it like a thought without a body, carried about like a leaf on the chaotic wind. The two Goddess were all around him, and somewhere within it all, there was Pharangese , her spirit white hot and bright.

Daryoon wanted to reach and brush the bright steady glow of her, and it blew through him filling him with courage and her fierce determination. For one moment her thoughts were his, and it was a profound sense of purpose and pride. It was what every Priestess lo nged for, an impossible dream to serve and commit to Misra so completely.

Daryoon felt his heart race with it, and then she was gone. The child priest was gone, not even a soul left after his being was burned through by his Makra.

He felt rather than witnessed the age of the struggle. This battle had gone on for many centuries, before maybe even longer than the two deities could recall themselves. Daryoon saw the battle fields and peace spread through time. He saw the land as he never imagined it, filled with animals he had never conjured, even in dreams. He saw land filled with strange cities, reaching towards the sky as bright and sharp as his sword. The past and future flashed and flickered through him.

He saw each of the deities lose and win and lose and win.

No one was ever the victor for long, and nor ever would be. Like their past, their future would guide them to struggle for more ground as the other lost it. A precarious balance of dark and light that would forever shift, unstoppable as night and day.

The warrior gasped at his own futility. What was he after all but a human? He had no powers, knew nothing of destinies preordained or worlds to rule. He was a tool, a shield, a man made to serve. The impact of his own insignificance as he saw all of before and after him, and that he was only one man in a cosmic complex time line that stretched forever and forever and forever and

His knees hit the stone. The nebulous indistinction of the Goddesses were far away, another ripple of power shuddered through him making his heart skip in his chest.

"Extraordinary."

Daryoon looked up sharply, his disorientation fading.

"You have come back." Arslan smiled at him not unkindly. As if, even in Makra’s hold, the beauty Misra granted him would not betray or desert him.

The tall warrior shakily stood. "Your highness." Daryoon was just a little surprised at the tone in his voice. "As your Majesty’s Captain and Personal Guard, I demand you come with me."

Arslan's gaze did not waver, his face unchanging as though mute.

"Where you will not serve me in life," Arslan told him, calmly sliding a wicked obsidian spear through his hands. Each end had a curved knife, jagged and blackened with flesh and blood. "...you shall serve me in death."

The floor rocked beneath their feet causing stone to lurch, and somewhere behind them glass shattered violently to the floor. A deep rumble, like an angry beast no longer in check rolled through the air and through the Warriors bones. The sound of it like an oncoming quake of the earth that promised worse. 

Daryoon took a deep breath, the chaos of his surroundings fading away into a faint din, his focus honed on the fine delicate hands that hefted a stone spear as if it were firewood. 

The agony that throbbed in his shoulder receded with a thought. He drew his sword.

Arslan smiled a small indulgent smile. "Oh Daryoon." He shook his head, thoughtfully bemused. "How do you expect to win?" His mouth twitched as if it would have been impolite to laugh.

"My life, your highness." He slowly raised his blade, and began a slow careful circle of the young unimpressed Prince. "With my life."

The first strike of the spear reminded of Daryoon of his wounded shoulder with a swift anguished cry of pain. But he ripped his sword stroke through it, blind to his own agony. The Prince he was to save, the Prince he was born to protect, he now savagely beat back with his sword.

Blow by blow, the agile Prince avoided him, toyed with him, and struck him with a fury and strength few men possessed without divine help.

Daryoon knew very quickly what the out come of the fight would be. And that outcome hadn’t already occurred because he was being played with. Arslan was laughing, and enjoying this struggle.

"You look very tired Daryoon." Arslan told him.

Daryoon knelt panting on the stone, his sword arm numb, his shoulder guard soaked through with warm sticky blood. He had become a wraith, not the boy he and all the world had once cherished. After all they had endured, was he still too late? This vile, twisted newborn set ablaze with the joy of slaughter was of Makra's making. He was numb to the cracking of his skull against the floor, waking only to the surreal touch of his hand, burning cold with Makra's dark power, moving across his armor, searing the skin below like acid. Daryoon hissed.

"And this and this." Arslan murmured against his lips, pressing his hands on the Warrior’s body. Even between Daryoon’s thighs to painfully grasp him. His hot breath was in his ear. "This flesh will be mine even when your heart stops."

This was not his Arslan. Daryoon shut his eyes waiting for the Prince’s rough caress turn back to violence. After all this he would die by the hand of what he lived to preserve, but surely that young man was no longer here to save. He only hoped Misra would mercifully end Arslan’s life instead of letting him be swept away, forever in the dark of hell.

I am so sorry Arslan. Daryoon groaned as Arslan bit at his neck. The slight weight of his body sprawled over his own, did not seem enough to keep him.

But then Arslan was gone.

The greatest explosion yet shook the ground out from underneath them both, a deep heavy roar of unimaginable rage blasted around them like in an inferno of hot rancid wind. The battle was on its decline. Daryoon struggled to rise.

A crackling bolt of energy spread in a wave from the battle’s source and the ripple of pain that flooded through the warriors body was almost unbearable. Somewhere he heard Arslan cry out in pain as the blow hit him as well. The vaulted walls that rose around them began to sag and slide into insane angles. The last of the stone arches and anything left of the tenacious hold of Makra’s will was suddenly gone. It was all crashing down at once. Makra was finally losing the last of her control.

"Daryoon?"

The voice was so soft and so afraid, but it cut through the howling wind and thunder.

"My Prince?" Daryoon choked in hope, weakly lifting himself from the ground.

The Prince was staring at the spear in his hands with horror. "What is this?"

So fragile, so unsure. The warrior felt hot tears flow down his face as new strength coursed through him. He had this moment, while Arslan was himself. He had this moment and he wasn’t going to waste it explaining anything. He quickly yanked his black cloak from his shoulders before Makra took him back again.

Arslan had dropped the spear and was looking down at himself. "Daryoon?" He moaned in panic, seeing his nude body painted in black paint as if for the first time, and the blood that had splattered on his skin.

Daryoon quickly wrapped the boy in his heavy cloak and swept him up. "Close your eyes Majesty." He assured him. "I am taking you home."

Daryoon had wrapped Arslan in his cloak tightly as possible. He didn’t have to be told that he had to move very quickly before Makra noticed Her Chosen being stolen away, and when Arslan was controlled again, he wasn’t sure if he had the power to keep him. As he hurried through the chaos, focused on the far away promise of white light, he could hear the young Prince’s weak words and the beginnings of his struggling protests. By the time Daryoon spotted the fissure, Arslan was kicking and thrashed like a mad man.

Narsus and Gieve were there.

Narsus and Daryoon shared a look of profound relief. They had both waited for him. Daryoon would never forget that.

"I’ve sent Elam on!" Narsus was standing before the fissure, the deafening roar of wind that blasted forth out of the rip of space and time threatened to knock Daryoon off his feet.

"Hurry!"

"Pharanguese!!!" Gieve called out weakly, his other arm outstretched vainly, the ragged despair in his voice making them all stop in sudden confusion. "We can’t leave her here!" Gieve tried to struggle out of Narsus’s grasp, his eyes terrible in tears. "I am not leaving without her!" He broke free clutching his wounded hand and arm and stumbled towards the churning superpowers.

The fissure flickered and threatened to fade.

"Take him!" Daryoon shoved Arslan’s weak body into Narsus’s arms. "GO!"

Narsus considered only for a second. "Don’t stay long Daryoon." And with that, clutching the Prince close, he stepped through. It crackled and flickered like lightening at their passage, igniting Makra’s fury at her prize abducted.

Gieve was stumbling crazily towards the swirling lights. Daryoon rushed to stop him, maybe force him through the fissure when suddenly the violent vortex of light stopped almost completely.

The unsubstantial solidified for one brief moment.

A being of light paused in regard of Gieve and Daryoon. It lingered at the edge of the battle that raged behind it. And for a moment, the radiant light cleared and the steel gray of the Priestess’s eyes was there.

I must stay here. I must stay to make certain Makra cannot follow.

"My Lady!" Gieve's cry was horrible as he was dragged away, Daryoon pulling them both towards the fissure, the wind was cracking space itself. The Temple had fallen.

Good bye Pharangese. Daryoon thought in profound sorrow. And as he and Gieve hit the fissure he was almost certain that the last he saw of her before she was gone in the blinding surge of the Goddess and the fissure closed behind them, was a smile.

~Epilogue~

Waking was painful. People hovered over him, and spoke in hushed voices.

He came to, his armor gone. His shoulder was carefully bandaged, and he lay in a pristine white room with high windows, the deep of night beyond them.

He was in Misra’s Temple.

"Arslan." he breathed and sat up. Too swiftly for his body, and he collapsed back into the pillows with a groan.

"Rest Warrior." Came a soft order.

Daryoon looked to see the older matron, the High Priestess seated calmly by his bed side. "Did the others? Make it?"

A nod. "They have all arrived safety."

Daryoon let the words run over him like cool water but fought when he felt his eyes threaten to shut again.

"Let peace take you Warrior." She stood as if to leave. "You have done well."

"No." Daryoon forced himself to the edge of the bed, his muscles aching and his shoulder a throbbing burn of pain. "Take me to him."

The Priestess looked troubled, averting her aged eyes. "It can not take one day to undo what it took many to create." She said impatiently. "Place your trust in us for you have no other choice."

"Take me to him." Daryoon repeated, his dark eyes set and determined. There would be no denying him. He only hoped the Priestess would be wise and recognize this immediately.

"Very well." She sighed, opening the door. Daryoon rose unsteadily, trembling on his feet with weakness. She moved to help him. "Steady, warrior. You will need all your composure for what you are about to see."

Daryoon knew he was being lead down passages and walls that had never seen his like, preserved for Misra’s holy women, and for them only. The air was crisp with the cool of night air, and the sound of running water trickled to him from far off hidden gardens. But it still did not calm his wounded spirit.

"Do not be shocked by his manner. Makra's magic has caused him much harm." She said gravely, wrapping her robes closer around her body as if she were chilled. "Our work has only begun." She showed him to the door of a secluded chamber.

Arslan lay panting on mussed bed linens, his wrists and ankles restrained. The dark tint that Makra had decorated his body with had been attempted to be scrubbed away but the dark traces of it lingered on his pale flesh. He flashed unnaturally bright eyes on Daryoon as he emerged through the ranks of softly chanting Priestesses.

"Daryoon?" His eyes welled with tears, as he feebly pulled at his trapped hands.

As kind as the restraints were meant, they still seemed cruel to the Warrior, even as he saw the self inflicted scratches and bruises on the Prince’s body. He sat by his side. "My Prince."

"I don’t remember it all." Arslan simply said, his voice weak and strained, his lower lip trembling. "I can not always control my own m-mind?"

Daryoon put a hand on the young man’s shoulder, his own vision blurring with emotion.

Arslan blinked as if his own words confounded him. "Tell them to release me Daryoon." His eyes darkened, and his hands made fists.

"Daryoon." It was Narsus, pulling him up. "I think you should go."

They left Arslan in a rage, his shouts echoing through the pristine walls of the temple, paining all who could hear his sorrow. It tore at Daryoon’s soul, the hate that he read in the blue eyes, the Prince was shifting between two minds completely, it seemed the gentle nature of the boy had been ripped away impossible to ever be restored.

"Trust them my friend." Narsus assured him. "He only needs time."

"Where is Gieve?" Daryoon forced himself to ask, his voice harsh.

"At Misra's altar." Narsus looked down, breathed out slowly. "They have held a ceremony in Pharangese’s honor. He has not left since it’s end."

Daryoon was downcast.

"She helped me through you know, Narsus." Daryoon hid his face in his hand, leaning against the wall for support. "She...she was glad to, I think."

Narsus's hand was firm on his shoulder.

"You did well."

Daryoon shook his head.

"She did well. She did it all."

"This is a heavy time. But we are alive and the Prince is safe."

Narsus's words, like his touch, were reassuring.

Daryoon closed his eyes.

"Yes."

Days passed. Gieve grew pale and drawn at the altar of his Lady, becoming a shadow to the world. The priestesses brought him food which he did not eat, his friends love he did not take. He spoke to no one but sat many hours by the stone pillar in solitude. Narsus spoke worriedly of his health, pondering what should be done. Gieve's grief would be the death of him.

"I can't do it Narsus." Daryoon spread his hands helplessly.

"You see he is neglecting himself." Narsus sat at his study, writing a report of the party's progress to the Council at Ektabahana. The people were eager to know of their Prince's return. "My words have no effect. It's not too much to hope that yours might?"

A servant girl in white robes entered then, placing a tray of fruit and a canter of wine on the table. She bowed at Narsus's brief nod and left.

"Take this tray to him, then." Narsus dipped his quill feather in the inkwell. "See if you can't get him to eat."

Daryoon took up the tray with a sigh.

He didn't bother announcing himself as he entered the dimly lit chamber. Many candles of remembrance had been lit around the alter. Gieve's ghostly countenance appeared as if it could not be warmed, even by their gentle glow. He sat against the marble altar as if made of stone himself, wrapped in his cloak. Daryoon approached him wordlessly, placing the tray of food at his feet. He could not think what to say. Words were not his forte.

"How does the Prince?"

Daryoon's heart leapt at the shadow that was Gieve's voice. He schooled his response carefully.

"Well." He breathed. "He shall recover himself in time."

Gieve nodded once, eyes absent. Silence and candlelight had been his companion too long. Daryoon picked up a pear, shining it against his cloak. He cleared his throat.

"The pears of Misra's Gardens are sweet this season." He offered it out to him but Gieve merely stared. Daryoon sighed, placing it back on the tray.

The archer was in no mood for idle chatter.

"Was he worth it?" Gieve asked suddenly. Daryoon looked surprised, unsure of what to say. Gieve was not looking at him, his breathing accelerated.

"We're back. He's back." He said rapidly, as if all sense had abandoned him. "Why isn't she?"

"Gieve..."

"By Misra, I would have STAYED!" He cried. Weakness and hunger had made Gieve careless. Daryoon fought the urge to reach out and touch him, comfort him. Gieves eyes were burning brightly in the candle's glow, strange and wild.

"I have never stayed with anything...so long."

Gieve stood and took the pear from Daryoon’s hand.

"When do we ride to Ektabahana?"

Daryoon shook his head, unsure of what to say.

"She," He had to pause.".. she gave herself for Arslan." He bit bitterly into the fruit. "Shall we continue this war where we left off and put him back on his throne?"

Daryoon smiled.

Daryoon was surprised to hear that the Prince had finally been allowed to wander away from out under the watchful eyes of the Priestesses. The Warrior had been careful about his privacy, mindful of Arslan’s confusion, and what he remembered from his imprisonment in the netherworld.

He was surprised and pleased, he discovered, as he slowly ascended the tower steps. It was a good sign that Arslan felt at peace enough to seek solace with himself.

Daryoon rounded the corner at the top of the empty tower. Empty for but the Prince who was brooding with his Azrael. The proud bird flapped his mighty wings at Daryoon’s arrival, and caused Arslan to turn.

The young man smiled. "I am so glad to see you."

"It is a fine evening." Daryoon simply said, casting his gaze out over the horizon and the setting sun. It was with a great sense of calm, that he would stand by his Prince in Misra’s stronghold and watch the day end. "I am glad to find you well."

"We haven't talked like this in a while, have we Daryoon?" A nervous smile lit the ends of the Prince's mouth, wavering and fragile as a bubble of soap.

Daryoon shook his head.

"No, Highness. There's been little time."

The Prince sighed, stirring the white gold hair at his temple.

"I have felt so unlike myself these past days, I feared you would not wish to speak with me again."

"Highness?"

"I realize what you have done for me." The young Prince bit at his lip, his pale eyes cast downwards. "All of you?" He quickly added as he stood, his ivory skin flushed a pink hue. "The things I said, and the things that I have done-"

Daryoon interrupted him.

"You are my King."

Arslan went into the Warrior’s arms.

Daryoon stood for a moment unsure for what to do. But then returned the embrace, tipping the young man’s face up towards his own and pressed his lips to his.

He placed him gently onto the bed his fingertips exploring the pale skin of his throat. His mouth. The ivory hands.

It was nothing to draw down the silk around thighs. The kisses he left made such sudden red marks that he drew away in slow alarm. Arslan was breathing deeply, legs parting, his arms over his head clutching fiercely at the dragon engraved head board, embroidered silk tunic fallen up to and bunched around his neck.

"I'm not afraid, Daryoon," he told him softly. "What will you do to me-"

Daryoon closed the words with his mouth, pressing his tongue in as he used a hand between the tensed thighs. Arslan's delicate hands began touching and then winding into black hair, pulling a gasp out of the solider as Daryoon's callused hands went under the lithe body under him, grasping under his thighs. Pulling Arslan's trembling knees up and beside and along his hips. The Prince was so perfectly warm. Skin hot. His cheek was pressed into Daryoons tensed shoulder, softly panting, the pale soft hair smelt vaguely of the castles many flowers. Daryoon whispered a warning before his fingers found and started to gently explore Arslan's willing body. The Prince did nothing but moan and arched his back when one and then two fingers slowly worked him, his legs spreading wider. His breathe coming in shorter and faster gasps.

"Daryoon," his arms tightened in an embrace around his neck. "I wish you to ..."

The solider could barely breathe.

"I...I wish you to ..."

"Yes... Yes, My highness."

It took much to fumble with his tight front leather lacing, trying to free the throbbing painful ache that hung between his legs. He paused with the dread of concern.

"I don't wish to harm you."

The Prince beneath him suddenly and violently stilled. There was a gentle kiss placed softly and urgently behind his ear, and then the rugged stiff armor was pushed down over his shoulders.

"Please... please..."

Arslan's back arched when he received him. Daryoon stifled a cry, and then tried desperately to keep his voice and pleasure in check. He couldn't stop his noise. He closed his mouth on Arslan's slow urgent moans, stifling pleasure and their pain.

This could be maybe forever, theirs.


End file.
